


A Russian Intervention

by Fourthlinewinger



Series: #worlds2017 [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Egregious Lies, Friendship, Humor, M/M, william nylander is a precious bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger
Summary: Willy had thought that, after Nicky threatened them with menial chores and financial woes, Dmitriy Orlov and Yevgeny Kuznetsov wouldn't dare talk to their captain about any kind of romantic intimacy going on at Worlds. Like kissing.As he stares into Ovechkin's frosty blue eyes, he knows he was very, very, wrong.Alternatively, "Alex Ovechkin's 5 Rules For Dating His A"





	A Russian Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> I am very seriously amazed by the positive reception I got from _#worlds2017_. Thank you! I hope people like the second ~~descent into madness~~ part. Now with more Russians!

William Nylander stopped dead in the lobby of his hotel in Cologne as Yevgeny Kuznetsov popped up from one of the low couches nearby, a tablet in hand and a shit eating grin on his face. Willy blinked at the screen. He eyes drifted questioningly to Kuznetsov. Kuznetsov smiled encouragingly.

“Hello little Nylander!” Ovechkin beamed happily up from the tablet Kuznetsov had thrust in his face.

“Um, hi?” Willy said, a little concerned as to why Ovechkin had - what, asked Kuznetsov to track him down so they could chat? 

The memory of the third Capitals player Willy had been spending time with marched through his head in technicolor.

Was this some kind of shovel speech? Oh, God, had Kuznetsov and Orlov really run to their team captain about Willy - about Nicke - exactly how many people know -

“Kuzya tell me you kiss Backy!” Ovechkin continued, which answered the third question.

Willy looked at Kuznetsov, somehow betrayed even though they didn’t know each other at all. “You told him! Nicke promised to make you wash the dishes for a month! And take care of the dog! And fill your skates with peanut butter and honey until you go broke from having to replace them!”

“Kuzya’s bank,” Ovechkin said thoughtfully. “He’ll have to ruin a lot of skates, Zhenya.”

“I have secret weapon,” Kuznetsov replied. “Can’t talk about it, but things good.”

Willy wasn’t so sure. Willy was 90% positive that the only reason Nicke hadn’t kill both his teammates right there in the hallway was because they were in public and Germany had laws against murder.

“But we’re not here to talk on Kuzya’s life choices,” Ovechkin said, which. Okay, there really was a point to this. Willy had a bad feeling in his stomach, one he would normally hope was indigestion, but he had a gold medal game in a few hours. It might be best if it was a warning of how bad this conversation was going to get.

“We’re here to talk about Backy, and you.” Ovechkin’s face grew serious. “There are rules for dating Backy.”

“...Rules,” Willy echoed. Definitely a shovel speech.

“Yes,” Ovechkin nodded. “Number one, always bring flowers when you pick him up. Number two, you always pick him up.”

Willy blinked once, then twice, then once more. The image on the screen didn’t change: Ovechkin was nodding seriously and gesturing at a large vase of wildflowers he’d pulled out as … as a prop? Had he planned this? Everyone always said Ovechkin was crazy, but Willy hadn’t thought this is what they meant.

“Are you write this down?” Ovechkin asked. “There will be a quiz.”

Willy was standing in the hotel lobby, having just finished breakfast when Kuznetsov ambushed him. He had a very small handful of euros, his wallet, a sharpie, and his phone in his pockets. He opened his mouth to tell Ovechkin that he hadn’t been expecting a lecture on dating, and anyway, Willy knew how to date people, he was very good at it, thank you for your concern, but - Ovechkin’s crazy blue eyes got a little colder and greyer. Willy pulled out his phone and opened up his notes app. He typed:

  * Flowers
  * Pick up at door



And looked back at the tablet. The fastest, and least humiliating, way through this was just to play along. He hoped.

“He write it?” Ovechkin asked.

Willy started to answer, but Kuznetsov said, “Да,” before he could complete a word.

“Good!” Ovechkin was beaming toothily again. “Okay, where are we? Number three, yes.”

Willy tentatively put his hand up.

Ovechkin said, “Yes, little Nylander?”

“How many of these are there? Because I have to go take a nap, and prepare, and we have a skate and a team meeting, and -”

Ovechkin raised his eyebrows. Eyebrow. Not in a cool Mr. Spock way, but because they were heavy and connected and very Russian in their disapproval.

Willy slumped down a little. “Nevermind.”

“I’ll pretend I not hear that,” Ovechkin said kindly. “Now, number three. For a good date you bring him chocolate, for a very good date you bring him marshmallow peeps. And don’t stare when he bites their heads off. Backy doesn’t like them staring at him.” He picked up a yellow peep from where it was perched on top of the bouquet and moved the vase out of range of the camera. Willy flinched when Ovechkin chomped down hard on the head of the peep and ate it with a great deal of fanfare. Then Ovechkin put the headless marshmallow on the desk in front of him.

Willy dragged his horrified eyes from the screen and typed, 

  * Peeps = best, chocolate okay



Which wasn’t actually bad advice. He frowned and tried not to think too hard about it.

“Number four,” Ovechkin said, and pulled out -

No.

“No,” Willy said, looking at Kuznetsov with the kind of horror he usually reserved for the Leafs’ PR team.

Kuznetsov, the bastard, was silently cracking up. The tablet almost clattered to the floor; Willy wished it would fall and break into a million pieces because Ovechkin had swept aside the peep and set in front of him a small foil packet.

Ovechkin looked very earnestly up from the unsteady screen to say,

“Number four is very important. Condoms are rookie's best friend.”

And then he took out a banana.

_Oh, my God._

“Oh, my God,” Willy whispered in stunned horror.

Kuznetsov broke out into whooping peals of laughter. Various people in the lobby with them turned to stare. Willy dove for the tablet but Kuznetsov danced back and out of the way, still cacking like a crone. He tripped over a couch and went tumbling into it; Willy seized the opportunity to pin him and struggle for the tablet.

Fits of laughter must’ve rendered Kuznetsov incapable of any kind of coordination, because it was all he could do to hold on and keep Willy from snatching the tablet away and ending this nightmare.

“Boys!” Ovechkin snapped and Willy froze, knee buried in Kuznetsov’s ribs, one hand on the screen and the other pushing at Kuznetsov’s jaw.

Kuznetsov snickered again and flipped Willy to the ground.

“Sorry, O,” Kuznetsov said. “We’ll be good, I promise. Please continue.” He made himself comfortable on the couch.

Willy dragged himself upright and blew his bangs out of his eyes. “I KNOW!” he started to shout, before realizing that he was drawing even more attention to them than the scuffle had already caused. “ _I know how to use a condom_ ,” he hissed at Kuznetsov and Ovechkin.

“I see,” Ovechkin said. “So, you want to skip this part?”

Willy nodded emphatically.

“Alright,” Ovechkin said simply. Slyly. Willy had a really, really bad feeling about this. “Time for quiz, then. Kuzya?”

Kuznetsov, finally straight faced, handed Willy a brand new foil wrapped condom. And a banana.

“Oh, my God,” Willy whispered pitifully. “Please, just let me die.”

Ovechkin made a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

“Does Nicke know you’re doing this?” was all Willy could think to say, as he found himself ripping open the condom while seated on the floor of a hotel in Germany, being judged by the Russian captain of the Washington Capitals.

“Backy and I been best friends since before anyone knew you were good at hockey, little Nylander,” Ovechkin said, which, for the record, was not true. Willy had definitely been awesome at hockey before Nicke came over from Sweden. It was really hard to contradict Ovechkin while he watched you fumble your way through putting a condom on a banana, though.

Willy pinched the tip of the condom and held onto the banana.

Ovechkin said, “Is it inside out?”

“No!” Willy said, and covered the banana in Tre Kronor yellow latex without dropping it. His face was on fire, Willy registered, and had been for a while.

“Good job!” Ovechkin praised once he’d finished. “Full mark. Kuzy, give him extra just in case, OK?”

Willy dropped the condom banana into Kuznetsov’s lap and slumped to the floor. “Are we done yet?” he asked in a voice like death.

“Nope!” Ovechkin said, popping the ‘p’ like he’s twelve. “One last thing! Number five. You there, little Nylander? Sit up, I can’t see you.”

Kuznetsov poked him with his sneakered foot. Willy smacked his legs and sat up so he could see Ovechkin and Ovechkin could see him.

“What now?” Willy braced himself for anything. For … safe words or handcuffs or possibly instructions on where to buy an engagement ring. Ovechkin was batshit insane, and enjoying this, and Willy had no idea what was going to happen next.

Willy futilely pushed his hair out of his face.

Ovechkin’s smile faded, and he looked serious again. There was nothing warm or humorous in his pale eyes, and Willy shifted. _Shovel speech_ , he thought.

Ovechkin said, “No means no, William.”

And that - that was -

Ovechkin was looking at him with such clear, steady eyes that William closed his mouth on his automatic indignant cry.

“I know,” he said instead. “I would never -”

“He say no to date, and you say okay. You smile, and you be his friend, and you let it go. Understand?”

Willy found his tongue. “I don’t - of course. Of course, Ovi, of course.”

Ovechkin stared at him for a while longer, and Willy swallowed, feeling unbalanced and obvious and young.

“Okay!” Oveckin said, when the silence between them had dragged on. “Now, pop quiz: tell me the rules for dating Backy?”

Willy had never experienced mood whiplash like that in his life. “Um,” he said.

Kuznetsov helpfully gestured at his phone.

Right. He took notes. Apparently they really were going to be useful.

Willy looked at his phone. “Flowers,” he said. “Pick Nicke up at the door. He likes chocolate and peeps. Use a condom,” he glared as Kuznetosv let out another giggle. “And don’t be an asshole.”

“Good job!” Ovechkin beamed at him. “Okay, good talk, little Nylander. Now go beat Canada! I root for you!” He waved and Kuznetsov flipped over the tablet to say his own goodbyes and end the call.

Willy got off the floor and dusted himself off. He checked the time. It had been barely ten minutes. It felt much longer.

“If I never see you again, it will be too soon,” Willy informed Kuznetsov.

“What, really?” Kuznetsov said. “After I talk him away from list with 10?”

Willy’s eyes went big and round.

Kuznetsov cackled. “I have game to win,” he told Willy. “Good luck!” he took the banana with him as he sauntered toward the doors out to the street.

“I’m going to tell Nicke!” Willy called after him.

Kuznetsov was smirking as he glanced over his shoulder. “Let me know when,” he says. “I take video of that, too.”

And, as the realization that it was possible, even likely, that the _entire scene_ has been immortalized on film, or at least google cloud, _forever_ slowly sank in, Willy was tapped on the shoulder. He turned.

It was Nicke, of course, smiling at him. “Hey, Willy,” he said. “Tell me what?”

**Author's Note:**

> I like to play a game with this fic. It's called, _How many lies does Ovi tell in one conversation_? I hope you all enjoy!


End file.
